THE GRIP OF COLD.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXX, Issue 3593, 5 August 1912, Page 3

THE GRIP OF COLD.

By ROBERT HALIFAX.

(Author of “The Drums of Fate,” “The House of Horror,” “A Woman in Their Web,” “Law Society,” etc., etc.) (Copyright—AH Rights Reserved.) CHAPTER XXXV. EVERYTHING IS IN GOOD HANDS. “Who is there? What is that moving ?” “Mo, Miss Sheba —Sophie! Oh, have I made a noise ? Don’t you knun me ?”

The maid, just tiptoeing away from the blind that she had lowered, drew up still, startled by the awed, quivering question that had cohie from that shadowy corner.

' “Sophie! Here, in my room? Rut what time of night is it? Why am I lying here?” “Lying there? Miss Sheba, yon have been ill —and might have been much worse. Don’t speak like that, miss; you frighten me. , I was not to say anything. You are ” “I have been ill?” It came again in the hushed voice of a child dreaming and terrified. “But —-Sophie, you seem quite different—everything seems n long way back ! Come here —touch my hand! Why are you trembling so? What dees it all mean?” “Don’t, Miss Sheba —oh, don’t! You surely know ? You were taken ill that same night. You were white as this sheet —you frightened us all—your eyes were shining and strange- Rut I was not to let you ask questions. No. lie back, Miss Sheba —you must! I was to be sure and call Mrs Saxon before anything else!” And Sheba, groping for the girl’s hands to lift herself, fell back. fcho lay in the lethargy of slow realisation. Her brain alone was at work, booming away as if just freed from some deadening influence. What- L'd happened? Why was the house so quiet—the room so unfamiliar ?

Yes, now she could recall rousing at times and feebly sipping at the cup that Mrs Saxon pressed to her lips. Mrs Saxon bad seemed a fairy godmother, and herself a chi’d struggling to keep awake, blit totally unable to do so Little by little the incredible mist thinned cut. She lay staring, ready to give a cry as her mind grasped the horror that still breathed in the background. She could hoar again the housekeeper’s subdued, kind voice —could it have been yesterday, or a week ago- ?

“Can you follow me, dearie? Ho is to be buried in Felcote churchyard to-morrow. Everything is in good hands. You are not to be allowed to worry, doctor says. All you need is sleep.” Sleep! Was it that? When was it that the- door over there had opened, ever so softly, and a face had

looked in at her? Why had she not screamed out ? It had come nearer—nearer — till its breath reached her ; and ....

“Bless her! At last! And looking almost herself—thank God. ves!”

It was Mrs Saxon in physi al renlity. Sli9 came 'hurrying in with lighted candles and a suppressed fever of excitement. Stooping, she framed the clear ovol face in both hands, and kirssed it again and again, until it was damp with her tears. “I may ! It’s as if you had come back again to life! Why, yes, dearie, don’t you know ? You have moved about the room in your dressing-gown ; you have talked to mo sever el times. Once you dressed yourself and were going downstairs —I came back just in time. One part of you was awake the whole time—the other was asleep. I believe Doctor Dancing thought at one time ”

“What!” she put in, in a little panting cry. “Has he been here to—to me?”

“Dearie, certainly! What’s the matter? Ho only came twice; on the first and second day. He was most anxious —most thoughtful. You took the final draught just about 12 last night—don’t you remember pushing my arm away? And to-day, his note says, if you feel able and desirous, we were to let you move about the house just as you wished. You have lain here a week!”

Sheba lay cpiite still in the arms. Her lingers were tightly entwined ; her dark, velvety eyes seemed to look into space for the answer to some mute question. A week ! ■ “'There, dear, not that look! Let it all come back by degrees. They never let a blind man see tile light all at oneo after an operation, you know. You will hear all soon. Why, of course, dearie, to-day is Wednesday!” With a determined cheerfulness Mrs Saxon stepped back to dry her eyes and busy herself at the far end of the room. There was so much to be said that «he dared not begin yet. And all the time she could hear from •behind that quiet echo of ~cr own last word.

“'Wednesday. (Seven days—seven whole days gone from my life.” She turned suddenly on an instinct.' Sheba was not lying still between the sheets. Sheba had risen silently and unaided, drawn on a morning robe and slippers as with some definite purpose, and stood watching the door with a strange expression.

“Don’t stop me—don’t stand in my way!” she whispered, thrillingly quiet in voice and manner. “I feel much better— quite different! I shall go

downstairs. I can’t stay in this room —I must see for myself what it all means.” “By all means, dear, if you feel you can, breathed the startled housekeeper.; “But not quits Ike that—you’re forgetting! Now, just sip this drain of beef-tea and cat the toast; and then I’m going to bathe your face and smooth your hair while you decide which -of your black dresses you’ll slip on. Why not, pray! No earthly reason why ho should not meet you looking as nice and like your old self as possible. And no excitement, mind! ■Whatever is to happen, whatever is behind it all, we must look facts calmly in the face—as Mr. Wilfrid Spurr himself says!” Sheba had sunk obediently into the chair. Something formed- and broke in her throat.

“Is —is Mr. Spurr here —in house?” she asked, in the came faraway voice.

Spurr- —Spurr! The name sang through, her brain. One by one the facts sprang back to her, as she sat s o still, her hair fallen in those waves, her eyes softly shining, the loosened robe slipping away from her fair breast and shoulders. She had emerged from a long trance, to find the world gone on without her !

“Here? Dearie, think. Certainly he is-' Just as if, acting for you, I should have allowed anything different! Where else could, he go? Certainly not into Barrowdcne or Felcote, with everybody staring and pointing at him. And as for that station hotel, it’s a death-trap with its draughts and damp sheets and fierce rats, too! ’ ’

“Rats?” Sheba repealed, with a tense -struggle to comprehend.

“Rats, dear! At least, so they used to say. This is his uncle’s house, to be sure. I’ve made bis room snugand comfortable with my own hands. 1 don’t know why lie preferred to stretch himself on the drawing-room .(ouch last night-—unless it has something to do with that long talk between him and Mr. Crewe. Just bend your head a little, sweet—only a little!”

“Is —is Mr. Crewe .here, too?” came up the mechanical whisper. “Not now, dear. Ere walked with Mr. Spurr as co-mourner —not very willingly, I’m afraid. Ele wouldn't stay for -one night. Isn’t it strange that poor Mr. Loder never seemed to make one solitary friend anywhere? Alt, and stranger, too, that bis nephew should l)t> as sensitive as a woman He went up to London on Saturday morning to see the lawyer, and. hung about there till Monday—only through sensitiveness, I feel positive. And just imagine!—be hail left his trunks at Barrowdcne station, and said not a word about them to anyone. And since Monday I’ve had harder work than ever to get him to sit down to a meal. My heart has ached for him at moments —wandering the house and grounds by himself, with'no one lie can seem to talk to! He’s certainly thinner in the faceHow can you wonder? Twice to-day I’ve had table set for him, and—there dearie, your hair looks soft and beautiful. Don’t you think you migni look at yourself in the glass?” Her lips parted, her eyes closed now,

Sheba sat as still as though she had not hoaril. Her mind was struggling back through the mist to that never-to-be-forgotten night Try as she would, she could not seem to grasp more than the one fact of the living present. Wilfred Spurr was hero — hero to stay. He had -stepped into the shoos of the dead. In that interval all bad changed. Her head was sinking forward; the little mean was in her throat for which Mrs Saxon had intuitively waited. (To be Continued Daily). PEOPLE WHO WORK. Every man or woman who works dono efficientlyj the unfit go to the wall. Good work depends upon good health. Work becomes a nightmare to those who are not well- Are you efficient? Or arc you depressed, tired, suffering from broken, sleep, backache, pains in the limbs, bad taste in the- mouth ? All these are symptoms that your kidneys are weak, and not able to carry out their work of properly filtering the -blood. And all these symptoms are forerunners of Dropsy, Rheumatism, Urinary Dis- ; order, Stone. Gravel, Neuralgia. Doan’s Backache Kidney Pills act on •-the kidneys only. They will keep you - free from pain, from backache ami : headaches. They will keep you effii cicnt. Read this statement: —

Mr. J. HefFernan, 53 Bright Street. Gisborne, says: “For some time 1 suffered with Lumbago-likc pains across my back. These pains prevented me from bending my hack, or getting proper rest at night. 1 was seriously hampered at my work, and once was completely laid up for about a week. I was really very ill and despaired of ever getting anything to cure my hack. I had my attention called to Doan’s Baekacne Kidney Pills, and get them at Kane’s Pharmacy. They helped me in every way. The first bottle made a great improvement in me, anti I kept on Using them, carefully following the directions- In all I have taken four bottles, and the backache is cured, and I can rest well at night. It is six years since my cure, and as I have been free of backache all that time, can safely say I am cured for good. Two years later, Mr. Heffernan says: “Doan’s Backache Kidney Pills cured me of backache eight years ago, and I have been well ever since. This speaks well for the merit of Doan s Backache Kidney Pills.”

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